


Cyrodiil Reunion

by Orcbait (EmpressofMankind)



Series: Season of the Dragon [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Canon LGBTQ Character, Comedy, F/M, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Shameless Smut, no one is straight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressofMankind/pseuds/Orcbait
Summary: You would think Abnur and Pulasia Tharn see each other every minute of every day on account of not just being married but both sitting on the Elder Council. However, nothing is farther from the truth: between field research and studying, days slip by and even weeks may pass unnoticed. Fortunately, they generally know where to find each other.





	Cyrodiil Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Set some time before the planemelt, when Varen is still Emperor and before the five companions set out to find the Amulet of Kings.

The Baandari trading post was a modest, transient settlement in northern Malabal Tor, near the pass to Reaper’s Marsh. It had once been an Imperial border town but it hadn’t been on the edge of the Empire for five generations and these days few of its buildings were permanent. The still imposing, stone-wrought gatehouse with its surly, square guard towers loomed over the only road into town as a stark reminder of that past.  
  
Remnants of the town wall connected it to the Census and Excise Office which was now shared by the settlement its small Mages’ and Fighters’ guilds. The Mages’ guild was so modest that they couldn’t provide the usual teleportation services through a lack of resident mages. And the Fighters’ guild their training facilities comprised the uneven court behind the old building with tarp overhangs to shield against the rain. Their permanent proximity resulted in the majority of the carefree town its shenanigans.  
  
On the other side of the gatehouse, the Silver Moons inn leaned across the alley towards the gatehouse like an old friend. Renowned for its fine, regional food and drinks, it offered a warm bed at a fair price to all those who preferred to not spend the night under canvas and cloth. The ever-changing tents of the Baandari Khajiit and Bosmer travellers dotted the trampled foliage beside impromptu paths and bazaars, creating cheerful, colourful chaos at the heart of the town.  
  
All residences were impermanent. All except one. The miniaturised Imperial estate sat up on the hillside at the edge of town, snug between a Valenwood giant’s roots and the mountains, overlooking the merry mayhem below. It had once belonged to the town’s publican, whose name had been lost as quickly as their body the minute the Empire’s grip on Valenwood had slackened. Decades had passed before it had obtained a new owner, for no one wanted to live in the unpopular taxer her residence.  
  
Its private, cobbled path crossed the main road near the Marsh Gate and stopped short in front of the Wayshrine of Kynareth, Divine of wind, rain and wayfarers too. The Khajiit called her Kenarthi and the Bosmer Kaan. The wayshrine was carved and hung with their epigraphs and tokens, its faded Imperial inscriptions indecipherable underneath. The tokens were wishes, of a sort, or prayers, maybe. They believed that, should they come loose by themselves, the loved one they had thought of while stringing it would once more cross their path. Or, as it hung there, remain safe while away from their side.  
  
Among the many colourful bangles and bone fetishes, hung a neat strip of red cloth. Its precise knot was all but loose. As it moved and tugged in the breeze, coming ever further undone, sunlight glinted off the gold-threaded diamond-shape sewn onto it.  
  
A steady stream of wayfarers and travelling merchants passed in and out of the modest settlement at all times. Many on foot, most carrying packs or pulling handcarts. Few with pack animals and fewer still astride mounts. It was this which made the three travellers on horseback stand out as they passed under the ancient gatehouse. Their horses were road-worn but their tack was fine, the animals their coats meticulously clipped under the dust of travel. Three in all they were. The lady riding up front directed her horse with confidence, her gaze sweeping the market before resting on the lone path up the hillside. She wore a loose, drab travelling overdress, though gold glinted at her wrists and fingers. She had pulled her crimson shawl across her head, shielding her light skin from the burning afternoon sun. The two soldiers riding close behind her were dressed in silver and crimson, their armour rattling with the horses’ steps.  
  
As they rode by the wayshrine, the small token tugged free. It turned and tumbled as it danced in the air, carried up the hillside to their destination by Kynareth’s breath. It folded around an iron bar of the walled enclosure and flapped there for a moment.  
  
The garden was dominated by the jungle foliage characteristic of Malabal Tor. However, their arrangement was too appealing, too neatly away from the garden path, to be truly overgrown. Someone had spared no expense to make it look as if every expense had been spared. Sequestered amid the rampant foliage and cradled between the colossal roots sat the modest home, erected from timber and lime, on a base of river stone. It mimicked far nobler Imperial manors with its austere architecture, high beamed ceiling and a red-tile roof. It even had a miniature wooden veranda, complete with sturdy overhang and scrollwork engraved balustrade.  
  
In one corner of the veranda stood an easel with an abandoned, half-finished painting, an impression of colossal pink and turquoise mushrooms alongside a smear of blue water on its otherwise blank canvas. A stool with a stained rag and a myriad of poorly closed jars stood beside it. Faded, yellow Black Horse Courier pages had been put down on the floorboards but it had not protected the wood from two violently purple stains.  
  
In the other corner lounged the owner of the diminutive estate, plus two. Abnur Tharn was reading a book. On account of the sweltering, humid weather, he wore only knee-length breeches and a Khajiiti kaftan which looked like a lightweight, coat-like variety of his usual robes. The book was one of a series which concerned the published journeys of the famous Imperial explorer and scholar Sevina Sulla. This particular one detailed her travels through Valenwood and her papers on the Pact Bosmer of southern Malabal Tor, based on her six-year stay with them. It was a heavy tome and Abnur had propped it up against the Bosmer sprawling across his lap. Ramira Don rested backwards with her elbows on the balustrade, leaning all the way back to catch some last sunshine. A dried streak of turquoise stained her freckled cheek. She was wearing a loincloth decorated with Bosmeri designs - and nothing besides. Near them, amid a sprawl of pillows, Ro'ranno loafed in his bare fur. The Khajiit purred contently and took another draw from the skooma bubbler in their midst. The opiate vapour had gathered under the overhang, its purple-tinged whisps twisting lazily just above their heads.  
  
The crimson strip of cloth pulled itself free and tumbled on, between the vines and over the path, to land across the Bosmer’s small, freckled nose. Ramira opened her eyes, her gaze cross-eyed as she looked at it. She snatched it from her face and pushed herself up into a sitting position in one smooth motion. “It came loose!”  
  
A huff escaped Abnur because a knee went unpleasant places and the book slipped from his grasp as a result. It landed upside down on the wooden floorboards with the crunch of many creased pages. Abnur pushed himself upright in an attempt to pry her knee from his crotch but he immediately slouched again. His thoughts slurred and he didn’t even try to pick up the book. “It’s been storming and I didn’t tie it very tight.”  
  
Ro’ranno took the bubbler’s mouthpiece from his lips to speak. “This one thinks that doesn’t matter.”  
  
Ramira leaned down to pick up the skooma bubbler and nestled it in her lap instead.  
  
“Rremi!” Ro’ranno exclaimed as the mouthpiece was jerked unceremoniously from between his teeth.  
  
Ramira ignored him and put it in her mouth, handing the second one to the battlemage. Abnur put an arm around her shoulders and took a long draw, inhaling the fragrant smoke. Ramira made herself comfortable against him, careful to hold the skooma bubbler’s water bowl upright.  
  
Ro’ranno sat up, his fur bristling. “You can sharre!”  
  
Abnur rolled his head to his other shoulder to look at the Khajiit. Smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke. “You can wait.”  
  
The Khajiit pouted magnificently but when they ignored him, he let himself drop back down amid the pillows.  
  
Abnur produced a coin-sized brass medallion from the pocket of his kaftan and flicked it across his fingers, watching it glint in the afternoon sun.  
  
“What’s that?” Ramira stuck her hands down and rocked forward.  
  
“Ramira!”  
  
She flinched at his raised voice, the wood piece falling from her mouth. Seeing his chance, Ro’ranno snatched it up before it hit the floor.  
  
“Will you stop doing that?” Abnur wheezed as he pushed her back onto her bum and her weight away from his mistreated loins.  
  
Ramira hunched her shoulders, her gaze down and her hands in her lap. “I didn't mean to.”  
  
He clenched his jaw but then sighed and gave her shoulder a tug towards him. “I know.”  
  
Ramira curled up against him, her nose and cheek against his chest. He looked back at the medallion, a smirk twitching the corner of his thin lips up. Perhaps, the priestess had managed to teach him something, after all.  
  
Abnur leaned down and pressed a kiss against the corner of Ramira's forehead. “Klutz."  
  
“What’s that?” she repeated, her eyes on the medallion. Something about her curious look made him think of a little magpie.  
  
“What’s what?” Abnur twisted his hand, showing an empty palm.  
  
Ramira frowned and lifted her head. She took his hand in both of hers and inspected it from every side. “The coin?”  
  
Abnur crooked an eyebrow, his smile turning wry. “Coin?”  
  
“This one saw it too!” Ro’ranno sat up, the mouthpiece falling from his lips. They were both staring at his hand now.  
  
Abnur leaned towards the Khajiit and pulled him closer by an ear. Ro’ranno’s nose wrinkled in a protesting pout. Abnur shook him by the ear, peering down into it. He flipped the medallion up between index and middle finger as if he’d taken it from Ro’ranno’s ear. “You mean this coin?”  
  
“Yes!” Ramira smiled broadly.  
  
“It was a gift.” Abnur flipped the medallion through his fingers before holding it out to Ramira.  
  
She took it, holding the brass coin up and admiring the finely crafted lily device on it in the sunlight. _Tuum cor aperi_, it read along the edge in fine Imperial script: ‘open your heart’. She recognised it, of course. It was a medallion of Dibella. She looked up at him and grinned. “The goddess of sex!”  
  
Abnur tilted his head, suppressing a smirk. “You’re not wrong.”  
  
“This one wonders who it was a gift from?” Ro’ranno’s grin was distinctly lopsided, smoke escaping between his canines. Abnur beckoned and Ro’ranno gave him the second mouthpiece as he shifted his position to accommodate the distance, leaning against the inside of the battlemage’s knee.  
  
“A very tall Orc,” Abnur said as he took a draw. "She's good with a battle axe and knows a thing or two about magic too."  
  
Ramira tilted her head. “How tall?”  
  
Abnur frowned, chewing the wood. He then held his hand up, at first level with his head and then quite a bit higher. Ramira’s eyes became large as moon sugar saucers. She looked from the medallion to Abnur and back. Ro’ranno tipped his head back to look at the indicated height, his mouth slightly open. “That one is very tall,” he said softly.  
  
A snort of amusement escaped Abnur despite himself. “That she is.”  
  
“You could invite her, sometime?” Ramira leaned towards him, her eyes glowing with poorly contained eagerness.  
  
Abnur crooked an eyebrow and her mischievous grin turned wider still. He shook his head and reached up to stroke her freckled cheek, then tugged her ear. “Maybe I will, you randy little mer.”  
  
She beamed as he pocketed the medallion. Abnur brought the mouthpiece to his lips but she dodged in between and took a draw instead. Smoke escaped her nose as she chuckled at his look. Ro’ranno stretched and purred rather loudly.  
  
Ramira reached for the mouthpiece but Abnur moved it out of range at the last moment, a slow smirk stealing onto his face as he held it up. She frowned and sat up, trying to snatch it when he took another draw. However, he already held it high again. A determined little scowl creased her nose bridge as she climbed across his lap. She pulled herself up by his shoulder and then leaned onto it, her fingertips brushing past the wood. He pressed a kiss against her bare hip and stretched his arm just that little further.  
  
The tip of Ramira’s tongue poked out between her lips as she aimed. Shifting her weight she pushed herself up by leaning entirely onto his shoulder, snatching the mouthpiece from his hand. She smiled in triumph but it was short-lived. She overbalanced and slipped. A pitched yelp escaped her as she clamped onto his arm and neck in reflex. Abnur latched onto the balustrade and tried to compensate for the Bosmer’s shifting weight but failed at both. His fingers slipped from the wood and grabbed a hold of the stack of books beside them instead, tipping them over. Ro’ranno jumped away with a hiss as they fell.  
  
The world span around Abnur until it came to an abrupt standstill as the back of his head struck the floorboards, stars exploding into his view. Around him the thumps of falling books made the floorboards shudder. He closed his eyes and grimaced, contemplating how many spines had broken in the fall and if his was included in that.  
  
When he opened his eyes, Ramira sat perched on his chair, peering down at him. “What are you doing?”  
  
Abnur pursed his lips. “Appreciating the solidity of Imperial architecture and the fragility of the human condition.”  
  
Ramira leaned her head sideways and blinked. She climbed off the chair and laid down next to him. She looked up and frowned at the overhang above. “I don’t see it.”  
  
Abnur rolled his eyes up and sighed, shaking his head minutely.  
  
Moonsugar whinnied, making all three of them look up. There was movement at the gate and within moments it was pushed open by a legionnaire. Skooma tossed her head in recognition, whinnying as well.  
  
Ramira sat up and smiled when she saw who entered, pleased. She looked down at Abnur, who still sprawled on his back. “See? Kaan promised and she always keeps them.”  
  
Ro’ranno jumped up to greet the new arrivals. He waved excitedly as he ran down the path. “Lady Pulasia!”  
  
The sweet scent of skooma reached Pulasia Tharn before the nude Khajiit did.  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A lot of time and hard work went into the creation and publication of this story and as such, it is very dear to me. I would love to hear what you thought of it! And please, share this story freely but credit me and link back to me. Thank you!


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